


In The Dark

by lunarumbra



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Background Relationships, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jicheol, M/M, Minor Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Panem, also i think i should mention that this fic heavily focuses on their friendships!!!!, joshua is my favorite character so far, will seungcheol ever see jihoon again we'll never know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-13 16:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarumbra/pseuds/lunarumbra
Summary: There was a certain terror that loomed over District 1. Seungcheol couldn’t name the nightmare but the chill was there deep in his bones, lodged in the crevices that formed from the number of fights he’s endured.He felt it even this morning when a flicker of fright appeared in his father’s eyes, saw it in the subtle shift in his friends’ voices when they spoke. No one dared to speak about it but Seungcheol knew it was there. He thought himself quite well-acquainted with fear - knows its call, its grip, its claws.He supposes it’s a skill anyone from Panem should have.---SEVENTEEN Hunger Games AU. Will add tags as the story progresses.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups & Hong Jisoo | Joshua, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups & Jeon Wonwoo, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	1. night before the reaping

There was a certain terror that loomed over District 1. Seungcheol couldn’t name the nightmare but the chill was there deep in his bones, lodged in the crevices that formed from the number of fights he’s endured. 

He felt it even this morning when a flicker of fright appeared in his father’s eyes, saw it in the subtle shift in his friends’ voices when they spoke. No one dared to speak about it but Seungcheol knew it was there. He thought himself quite well-acquainted with fear - knows its call, its grip, its claws. 

He supposes it’s a skill anyone from Panem should have.

He was at his room’s balcony and while their family’s home was located relatively far from the main city, he could still see the number of houses lit with twinkling lights and could even hear music coming from afar.

A set of fireworks then decorates the night sky with neon colors just when he was about to retreat to his room. In the distance, a group applauses and belatedly Seungcheol finally realizes that it wasn’t fear that gripped the district - it was_ excitement _. If fear was a friend, excitement was a stranger to him. He never dared invite the emotion, never wanted to be familiar with its eyes, its alluring smile, never wanted to shake its hands much unlike the enthusiastic (or naive, he would rather say) party goers from afar. 

He was glad they had no neighbors. But then a shadow detaches itself from the wall - silent and deadly. The fear was back.

He lunges just as the intruder appears and he quickly traps the figure against the wall, his arms making escape impossible.

To his surprise, the shadow _ squeaks _. It says: “It’s just me, hyung.” Another firework explodes in the sky and the man he’s captured is colored with a burst of yellows, pinks, and oranges. 

“Jihoon.” Seungcheol breathes in relief as he releases him to grab another seat.

Jihoon stretches his limbs and mewls like a cat. “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You still did though,” Seungcheol pouts. Jihoon smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Seungcheol noticed that he was wearing one of Seungcheol’s old shirts - a piece of clothing he had outgrown some few years back but it still hung too loose on Jihoon’s frame. He was about to say something about it, tease him probably, but Jihoon breaks the silence and says: “It’s reaping day tomorrow.”

Seungcheol merely nods.

Jihoon speaks again. “Well, _ later _ . It’s reaping day today and it’s the reaping ceremony _ later _.”

They shiver though neither could tell if it was the breeze or the weight in Jihoon’s words.

Seungcheol takes the blanket draped over his shoulders and wraps it around the younger. “It will be alright.” He tries but the small quiver in his voice betrays him. 

Jihoon smiles at him, grateful at the attempt. For a moment he digests what his eyes could offer: Seungcheol sitting beside him and donning a sweater a size too big on him, he’s smiling and he’s rubbing his arms from the cold, he’s reaching to touch Jihoon’s thighs to squeeze it in comfort, like he always does. 

It’s just him and Seungcheol tonight; just the two of him like it had always been these past years, fighting, surviving - just them. So he inhales, drinks the moment just in case, _ just in case _ he won’t have the chance—

Seungcheol taps his forehead and repeats: “It will be alright.”

“There will be Careers that will volunteer, you know.” He says again when Jihoon looks unconvinced. “This is District 1 we’re talking about after all. We’ll just attend the ceremony, watch the video the Capitol prepared, pretend to be at awe at the volunteers, and then go home.”

Jihoon finally breathes. “Yeah, yeah. Like we always do, right?”

“Oh but we’ll grab some ice cream, yeah? Buy some flowers. Stop by the music shop. All that, you know? Before going home. Like we always do!”

He thinks back to when he was thirteen and Jihoon was twelve - the first time they attended the reaping together as eligible candidates. Two Career Tributes volunteered as they had expected but that did not stop the wave of relief that Jihoon felt. 

The two of them went around the city that day, clinging to each other more than they ever did before. The possibility of facing death does that, Seungcheol supposes. 

He remembers buying three cones of ice cream - the last one was supposed to be for his father but they got distracted by the different stores they passed by that they had to share the vanilla cone (“We should eat it already, hyung.” “But that’s for dad!!” “Don’t be stupid.”) before they waste their money’s worth. 

It became an annual tradition for the pair. On the day of the reaping, they would wear their best clothes, go to the City Dome for the ceremony, and when the two Careers of their district finally volunteer, they would exhale and smile at each other from across the room. Then they would explore District 1’s City Proper for the rest of the day with Seungcheol’s arm draped around Jihoon’s shoulders.

They get to live for another year so they might as well celebrate, right?

“Like we always do.” Jihoon parroted again. This earned a laugh and for a moment all was well.

Seungcheol then extends his hand to the younger male. Jihoon takes it, already expectant. “We should sleep.” Seungcheol smiles and leads him inside.

He thinks back to when he was thirteen and Jihoon was twelve - it was the night before they would attend the reaping together as eligible candidates. Too anxious to fall asleep, Seungcheol stalks to Jihoon’s room. He wasn’t surprised to see Jihoon still awake, much like him. “Couldn’t sleep?” he whispered. Jihoon merely nods. “Can I sleep here tonight?” Jihoon nods again.

They did that every year now. Seungcheol slips under the covers and beckons Jihoon to do the same. They find each other’s hands under the blankets and they intertwined their fingers together. Seungcheol automatically curls towards Jihoon, seeking warmth and comfort. “I’ll see you in the morning, Hoonie.”

Jihoon smiles at him. It will be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter of my first SEVENTEEN fic ♡
> 
> I've had this idea for a while now so it feels nice to finally publish it. Let me know what you think!
> 
> PS. YES I do think both Woozi and S.coups fit in District 1 mehe  
PPS. Please see that I already tagged ''Graphic depictions of violence" for the archive warnings even if there aren't ay violent scenes here yet. I just wanted to let you know that this IS set in Panem and it IS a Hunger Games AU so we're bound to have some violence in the story.  
PPPS. The chapter is short I know haha I just wanted to establish a few things and let this fic breathe.


	2. reaping day

When Seungcheol woke, Jihoon’s side of the bed was already empty. He makes his way to his bathroom and grabs the clothes his father prepared for him - a suit ensemble consisted of a white button up, black pants, and a black coat with its left sleeve blotched with various colors. 

His father was a fashion designer once. Well-known, too. Even those from the Capitol sought out his designs. When he was four, he remembered his father getting commissioned to design the outfits for the Career Tributes not only for District 1 but for 2 and 4 as well. 

He stopped working with the Capitol when they took his mother.

Seungcheol, for once, styles his hair to expose his forehead. While Seungcheol never saw the point in dressing up for the reaping, he did so anyway so his father’s designs wouldn’t rot in their closets at home. 

His father and Jihoon were already seated when he comes down for breakfast. Jihoon was wearing a suit too - it was an all black piece that accentuated his pale skin even more. This was no doubt his father’s design too. “Come and eat.” his father smiles.

They were privileged enough not to have their table empty on any given day. Today though, their table was overflowing. There were fruits, tteokbokki, fish, kimchi, and so help him, _ cola _. Seungcheol lifts the cup curiously. “It’s for Hoonie,” his father says. Jihoon grins and gulps the drink, much to Seungcheol’s disgust.

On a normal day, his father would have shared the same disapproval over Jihoon’s cola-during-breakfast but Seungcheol was reminded: right, _ reaping food _. It was every Panem citizen’s tradition after all: to eat like it was your last meal. Although, he muses, it does ring true for others. He momentarily lets his mind wander to the eleven other districts, to the Tributes who will be unwillingly participate in the bloodshed. 

He thinks of the reaping balls, the betting, the livestream, and the celebration when a victor emerges. A squeeze brings him back to the present. He looks at Jihoon’s hand on his and he smiles. They will be okay. He knows that it won’t matter if there are twenty-three copies of his name and twenty-two of Jihoon’s since Careers will volunteer for District 1 anyway. 

“You look handsome,” he grins at Jihoon. He pushes away the hair that obscure Jihoon’s eyes and allows himself to stare into his dark orbs. “Handsome!” he cheers again and snatches the cup of cola from him, drinking the whole thing in one gulp.

He fakes a burp and Jihoon pushes him away in jest. “You’re gross!”

“Hey,” Seungcheol flicks Jihoons forehead, “so _ I’m _gross when I do it once? But best believe I have been suffering over that habit of yours for decades.”

“Whatever Cheol,” he says and steals a piece of fish from Seungcheol’s plate. 

Seungcheol hooks his leg with Jihoon’s under the table. The younger yelped in surprise and narrowed his eyes at Seungcheol, who then says: “Yeah, I won’t pretend it didn’t charm me the first time it happened.”

They dine until the clock reads 9 o’clock and his father walks them to the door and smoothes out their jackets, ridding any wrinkles. “I’ll you see you boys later for dinner,” he smiles and hugs each of them tightly. 

Jihoon revels in the warmth, smiles, and finally leaves with Seungcheol.

The city was decorated with colorful banners that bore different cheers for today’s reaping. It had a festive feel to it, Seungcheol thinks. If it were any other day, he would actually feel some sort of excitement, like that music festival he and Jihoon attended at the City Dome last year. 

The performers were talented and the music was amazing -- everything felt good. But this was the reaping and in no time he would be hearing about the deaths of 23 people and really - there was nothing to celebrate. 

He hated District 1. He hated the fanfare, the idolatry they had for the Capitol, the violence they perpetuate - it irks him, sickens him to the bone. But what could his anger do, really? It would get him into trouble, he knew that, and so he swallowed thickly, pushed down all his thoughts aside and tried to focus on something else.

Seungcheol’s eyes trailed to a camera perched atop a building, feels the weight of the stares of the rest of Panem and tries his best not to shiver. 

Finally, Seungcheol and Jihoon approach the entrance. They get pricked on the finger for the blood collection, a requirement for their annual biodata of some sort, and they get ushered inside the Dome. When they finally have to separate from each other to line up for their respective age groups, Seungcheol turns and squeezes Jihoon’s hand. “I’ll see you later, Hoonie-yah.”

He squeezes himself among the rest of the 23 year-olds of District 1. Someone greets him, he smiles, and wishes them good luck. He even sees his friend Jooheon amongst the crowd and makes an effort to greet him from afar.

The Dome was almost filled now and in front, the stage looms over them. He stares at the reaping balls.

Seated in front is Yoon Yu-Jin, the city mayor. Beside her is Hong Jisoo, the Capitol’s Representative, with his pastel pink hair. He was wearing a white turtleneck shirt under a brown cashmere sweater. He was the youngest of all the District Representatives and was appointed to District 1 two years prior. If Seungcheol remembers correctly, they were the same age as each other.

Behind him, two girls were gushing about Representative Hong. The Capitol boy _ is _pretty popular after all. Many people found him charming, eloquent, and good looking - and so he was widely adored and practically worshipped by Districts 1, 2, and 4 - but not so much by the other Districts. 

Though Seungcheol couldn’t really blame them: he too found it difficult to like Capitol-born children who were given exemption to the Games. He wondered about it aloud years ago and his father merely smiled and said: _ “It would be best not to question the Capitol, son.” _

He hadn’t thought about Jisoo ever since.

When the clock turns 10, the program starts and they play the video that explains the Hunger Games. Seungcheol has gotten the entire clip burned at the back of his head, knows the cues of each scene and the script of the voiceover - he locks eyes with Jihoon from where he stood and mouths the lines explaining The Treaty of Treason. 

He smiles when Jihoon covers his mouth to laugh. 

When the video ends, Mayor Yu-Jin introduces the past Victors from District 1 and the whole City Dome erupted with cheers. Seungcheol forces himself to clap and when the fanfare finally dies down, the mayor calls on Jisoo to finally “do the honours”.

Jisoo looks at his speech cards one last time and makes his way to the podium. He smiles at the crowd, clears his throat once, and finally speaks: “It is an honor to be here in District 1, thank you for having me. Happy Hunger Games!”

He spoke with a faint but recognizable Capitol lilt but his voice was steady, practiced, daresay _ gentle _. Jisoo waved to the crowd and Seungcheol swears he could hear a group of women chanting his name from some part of the Dome. 

“I see a number of skillful young men and women in front of me,” Jisoo grins and pauses to let the people cheer again, “who are all ready to bring pride for their District. Then, shall we finalize who will represent District 1?”

The whole Dome buzzes in anticipation at his words. “Ladies first!”

Without a moment’s notice, Seungcheol is suddenly pushed forward, the force coming from a woman behind him, the same one who was fawning over Representative Hong earlier. Gone was the girlish awestruck air that she held but it was now replaced with sheer determination and an aura of strength. “I volunteer as Tribute!” she says, her voice projecting around the Dome. He knows her, he thinks, sees her around the Academy where he studies and trains. 

The audience chants her name over and over and there are some people from his line who have begun congratulating her. 

Seungcheol looks again to Jihoon, who’s already looking at him. 

He pictures his fingers intertwined with Jihoon’s as they stroll around the city and mindlessly looking over stalls and shops. There was a bakery he’s always wanted to visit and he’s been meaning to ask Jihoon to go there together - as a real _ date _ this time - he just hopes he would say yes. 

For now though, he focuses on the program. He mouths_ : “It will be over soon.” _

Jisoo calms the crowd and grins. “Excellent! Thank you for volunteering Miss Hyerim.”

Suddenly, Jisoo’s smile disappears. The air around him shifts and he corrects his posture to stands more erect. “However,” he says in a more rigid tone. The aloof aura he carried gone in an instant. The atmosphere stills. The Dome hushes and everything suddenly feels cold. “Volunteering for this year’s Hunger Games are indefinitely disallowed,” he announces, “all Tributes for the 74th Hunger Games will be up to fate’s hands. Or in this case, _ mine _.”

Jisoo walks to the reaping ball as if unaware of the commotion he had brought up. The mayor tries to hush the crowd but it doesn’t seem to work - or so Seungcheol thinks, he wasn’t really sure because he _ couldn’t _ hear anything but his own heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Jisoo dramatically folds his sleeves and digs his arm inside to pull out a piece of paper. He lightly pushes the mayor out of the podium and reads the name out loud. A stillness blankets the whole Dome as everyone watches a twelve-year old girl wobble towards the stage. 

Seungcheol grips the ends of his coat.

Jisoo smiles and welcomes the girl. He says something that probably pleased the crowd, if the sudden cheers were anything to go by. Then he’s finally making his way to the other reaping ball: the reaping ball for males, the one that contained twenty-three of his name and twenty-two of Jihoon’s.

Seungcheol swallows the saliva that have pooled in his mouth. Time seems to draw out. His nails dig sorely in his palms and thinks back to the words he’s uttered last night: _ It will be alright, it will be alright _. 

His eyes dart to the opposite row and he finds Jihoon pale as a ghost. Jihoon wasn’t looking at him, his own eyes hypnotized by Jisoo’s form. 

Seungcheol’s heart thunders against his ribcage with such ferocity that he thinks he will pass out. _ Anyone _ , he pleads to the skies, _ anyone but Jihoon _. 

Jisoo easily picks a piece of paper and then gives his practiced smile to the crowd. “For the males,” he says with bated breath, “we have Choi Seungcheol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Hong Jisoo!
> 
> Seungcheol and Jihoon's suits were inspired by their Fear mv outfits while Joshua's whole get-up was inspired by Clap mv.
> 
> What do you think will happen to Seungcheol? Hmm..


	3. our tributes

Time comes to a standstill. Someone must have pushed him, Seungcheol thinks. He can’t remember. One moment he was in line with the rest of his age group but when he finally comes back to his senses, he’s separated from them with feet firmly planted on the stage. He sees the entirety of the Dome and he feels the attention of the entire county of Panem. Bead-like eyes stare at him with burning intensity that he almost _ physically _feels himself crack under their scrutiny.

Something brushes against his skin and he then realized that he’s at the mercy of Jisoo’s touch - cool and porcelain-like fingers are on him yet it feels like burning fire upon his flesh. Like a grip, a sealed contract, like a trap. 

The boy must have said something to him because he feels Jisoo’s warm breath near his face but he could neither hear nor understand his words. Gibberish sounds make their way to his brain and all he can think of is _ Jihoon, Jihoon, Jihoon, Jihoon, Jihoon _.

He tries to look for him in the crowd, the stage should give him a vantage point but everything just looks small and - _ he was wearing black, wasn’t he? _ \- but the whole Dome was littered with splotches of dark suits and dresses and Seungcheol thinks they all look like flies caught in a spider’s web.

_ Jihoon, Jihoon, Jihoon _his brain thunders relentlessly. The name anchored in the dips and bows of his brain that served like a hymn, a grounding prayer.

_ Where was Jihoon? _

All too soon, Seungcheol is being whisked away. Strong hands are upon his arms and they are pulling him away from the stage. For a moment he stands frozen because _this_ _was not supposed to happen - there were supposed to be Career Tributes - he was going to explore the city today - he was going on a date - everything was supposed to be alright. _

Seuncheol finally finds his voice. Scratchy and dry as if unused for days. He croaks a plea. “Wait,” he tells the Peacekeepers holding him, “I don’t - “

The armed Peacekeepers do not show any amount of patience. They pulled him rougher this time. If Jisoo’s hands were fire, their touch was a scorching blaze. They tell him with a warning: “Do not resist.” 

“I’m not - I’m not, look! Please, just. This must be a mista--”

An impatient sound that resembled an animal’s growl makes its way past one of the Peacekeeper’s mouth. The man was about to say something and Seungcheol was equally prepared to answer but he suddenly finds himself bowing to the crowd, his body moving on its own accord. 

He thinks Jisoo must have guided him to tip. Maybe. He didn’t know. 

They take him to a wide room somewhere inside the Dome. It was spacious and luxuriously decorated with expensive paintings and furniture. But as wide as the room was, all Seungchel could feel was smothered. He inhaled but each breath barely brings enough air to his lungs. 

_Inhale. Then count to fifteen _ , he reminded himself, _ the way they taught you in the Academy _. So count he did.

At the thirteenth second the door opens and his father quickly strides towards him. “Oh my son,” he reaches to hug him. He grips Seungcheol’s head towards him to pull him closer, closer, _ closer _. 

Seungcheol inhales his father’s scent and commits it to memory. Soap, powder, sandalwood, some hint of lemongrass tea, _ home _.

“I’m so sorry,” they both say at the same time. They hold on to each other, desperate to make every second last. When his father pulls away he’s surprised to find a wet patch on his father’s shirt. He didn’t even know he was crying. 

“Jihoon,” he starts with emergency, “you’ll continue to look after him.”

It was a plea, a gentle command, rather than a question. To Seungcheol’s relief, his father replies: “Of course. Jihoon is my son as much as you are.”

“Promise me.” Seungcheol asks. With his gaze softened, his father tells him: “I will look after him while you are away.”

He then fishes a velvet box from the depths of his coat. “Your mother said I would know when the time is right to give this to you,” he says with apprehension, “I don’t know what is inside but it is yours.”

He nods, pockets it for now, and tries to ingrain the image of his father in his brain. “Thank you,” is all he could think to say, “for raising me to become the man I am today. I am lucky, _ so _ lucky to have you as my father.”

“Don’t you dare say your goodbyes,” his father struggles to say without crying again. “You’re a strong and capable man, Seungcheol. Maybe - “

Seungcheol’s eyes finds the floor. “Dad. Don’t. You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

“I’m not going to give up on you.”

Surprised, Seungcheol looks up and meets his father’s eyes. 

Then, he remembers.

When he was five and his mother was taken by Peacekeepers, Seungcheol wept for days. He didn’t understand why they came barging at their home in the middle of the night, why they had Jihoon’s parents handcuffed behind them, why they were dragging their mother away from him. 

The Peacekeepers said she was evil and corrupted but little Seungcheol thought otherwise. He thought it was a misunderstanding and that they’d bring him his mother back the next day but she didn’t come home though even when the months rolled in.

When he turned ten and his mother didn’t return for his birthday, he cried to his father and said, _ “She’s never coming back, is she?” _

His father pulled him to his lap, gently stroked his hair and declared with ferocious love: _ “I’m never going to give up on your mother.” _

Hearing the words now gives him a sense of hope. It’s small, but it was there.

Then comes an imposing knock that breaks their trance. It was a Peacekeeper telling them their time was over. Seungcheol grabs his father again, hugs him tight for what may be the last time, and finally lets him go. 

The door opens again after a few beats. Seungcheol only takes one millisecond of a glance before he rushes forward with no hesitation, enveloping Jihoon in an embrace. He feels Jihoon’s arms wrapped around his torso, his nails almost digging in his skin despite the layers of clothing he had. It didn’t even hurt. He cries again.

When they pull apart, Jihoon was shaking. “Cheol,” his voice cracks and his throat fails to let any more words to come out. Swollen eyes, cracked lips - Jihoon looked like he was already mourning.

“Hoonie, listen to me. You’ll be alright, okay? Dad promised. Dad promised me, you’ll be okay. You won’t be alone”

He was squeezing Jihoon’s hand. Seungcheol didn’t know if he said those things to comfort Jihoon or himself.

“Don’t let anyone talk you into doing what you don’t want, do you understand? Don’t let them get to you. They’ll pick on you, the idiots at school always liked pissing you off. But Jooheon - I trust him. And Jeonghan. You know them. They’re good people. Please.”

Jihoon wipes his eyes, nods, and clenches his fist. He stammers: “You’re - no - I don’t - I just want you to come home, Cheol. I want you to come back to us - to _ me _.”

Seungcheol presses his lips against Jihoon’s forehead and embraces him again. He holds Jihoon against his chest, memorizes his warmth, the way his hands caress his back, how his hair brushes against his face, and how his frame slots perfectly against his body. 

Weakly, he whispers: “I want to come home to you, too.”

He belongs here in Jihoon’s embrace. He belongs in the tightness of Jihoon’s protective clutch; in the quiet mornings spent in contemplation and cool evenings drunk in youthful glow; in small pockets of laughter; in rainy seasons made warmer by a shared blanket; in stolen glances. He belongs here with Jihoon.

It has always been the two of them since the beginning: two boys of one heart and so it _ hurt _ . It hurt _ so much _to be pulled apart from him, to say goodbye, to face the reality that he might never come back. 

Seungcheol thinks of the many things he could have done for Jihoon and the words he has always wanted to say but now he just settles for this embrace - because his throat feels like it was being crushed by a thousand boulders and he doesn’t think he would be able to stop crying if he spoke.

“I’ll wait for you,” Jihoon whispers stubbornly, “because there is no one I would rather wake up next to than you, Cheol.”

“I can’t promise you anything, Hoon.”

“I know,” he exhales as he rubs circles on Seungcheol’s back, “but I can.”

The door then opens and Peacekeepers pry them off, Seungcheol struggles against their hold until they’re a mess screaming each other’s names. When the door shuts and he’s alone again, Seungcheol mourns the life he’s lost.

A few quiet moments pass until he’s collected again and led to the train station, where they’ll board for the Capitol.

When he finally gets there, Jisoo greets him with a smile. Beside him is the twelve-year old Tribute - Kim Yuna, he learned earlier - and they both shake hands. She was a small girl, although she looked capable and built like most trained District 1 candidates. Long, blond hair spills over her shoulders and her blue eyes shine with tears.

The initial shock of being picked as a Tribute must not have worn off yet. When they’re instructed to board the train, Yuna grabs his hand by reflex but immediately let go with an apology quick to grace her lips. 

Seungcheol’s heart aches and he finds himself offering his hand to her. She says “thank you oppa”, smiles, and timidly walks beside him.

Yuna only let go of his hand when the train doors closed behind them and the train comes alive for their journey. The trip would only take four hours since they’re the District closest to the Capitol, Jisoo informs them.

Seungcheol finally takes a good look at him. In the confines of the train and away from the cameras, Jisoo looks and acts different. Less robotic, more put together and relaxed, and daresay _ natural _. Jisoo massages his jaw and opens and closes his mouth, like how any ordinary person would if they were forced to smile for hours. It was almost amusing to watch.

For a brief moment, Seungcheol wonders what he looks like underneath the glittery make-up he wore. There was also a certain softness in his voice when he talks but Seungcheol knew better than to trust someone from the Capitol.

“Well,” Jisoo gingerly sits opposite to them, “I’m sure you know this by now but I’m Hong Jisoo. Some people call me Joshua or Shua, so I hope you won’t get confused when you hear that from time to time.”

Seungcheol and Yuna nod. He then looks around the train cabin and finally lets outs, “Will any of the previous Victors from 1 join us?”

Jisoo breathes and frowns a little. “You’re pretty observant.” Then he rubs his temples. “I - hm. We actually have a _ wrinkle _.”

“A wrinkle,” Seungcheol repeats unconsciously. The people from Capitol really do talk differently.

“Yes, Seungcheol. A wrinkle. I’ll just go straight to the point. None of the previous Victors came here with us.”

Yuna didn’t seem to understand so she shoots a worried glance towards Seungcheol. “At least one previous Victor is supposed to come with us,” he explains gently, “they’re supposed to be our… mentor of some sorts.”

He looks at Jisoo for an explanation. “I don’t know how to deliver this kindly,” he whispers almost to himself, “but none of District 1’s Victors wanted to join your journey this year.”

Jisoo hesitantly places two pieces of paper on the table; upon closer inspection, Seungcheol sees that it is his and Yuna’s records from the Academy. Jisoo then explains: “I know District 1 prides itself in producing Victors. The previous Victors were… _ dismayed _, so to speak, when they saw your records from the Academy.”

Seungcheol skims at both their profiles and saw that they both ranked below the tenth percentile in their respective age groups - he would have laughed if Jihoon were here with him but he sees they way Yuna’s shoulders slump and how she visibly shrinks in her seat, like the cushions are about to swallow her whole, so he delicately places the papers back on the table and turns to face Jisoo again.

He leans into the chair and scoffs. “So our beloved Victors are abandoning us to die.”

“No one said anything about dying!” Jisoo tried. Maybe it was a joke, something to alleviate the tension but the humor is loss with Seungcheol. 

He was never the type to snap, really, and he’s spent all his life with Jihoon and his less-than-appropriate humor so he _ should _ be used to this.

But right now, when he’s so wound up and facing his death sentence, he sees red. Blinding crimson that holds him with a surge of emotion, like a sudden storm or a crash of a tsunami he unleashes: “Can you even hear yourself talking? You’re trapping 24 people in an arena, where they’re - _ we’re _ \- expected to murder one another. _ Of course _ no one has to _ explicitly say _ anything about dying!”

Silence takes a tight grip on the train cabin. The storm clouds brew above Seungcheol’s head and he feels the blinding rage against the Capitol clutching his chest. 

Jisoo gapes, tries to speak but no one words came. 

Seungcheol decides that _ embarrassed _was a good and fitting look on the Capitol boy. Leaving him speechless and scrambling for his dignity felt good, like it was some sort of achievement or a form of low-ranked revenge.

When Jisoo remained silent, Seungcheol looks out the window and watches District 1 slowly fade from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, some family backstory~ and the beginning of Cheolsoo's journey! Also: YES I just HAD to insert Jeonghan in there and some MonTeen lovin'. 
> 
> ALSO: Joshua's pink hair!!!!!!! When I saw the photos yesterday, all I could think of was 'Capitol Representative Hong'! Even his outfit was the same as what I was picturing, just different colors.
> 
> Mentor-less Tributes, hmmm... Let me know what you think in the comments! I'd love to start hearing about everyone's opinions and their guesses about what would happen in the Games!


	4. welcome to the capitol

At the second hour of their journey, the three of them watch the replay of the reaping from the other Districts. Bright lights illuminate the show hosts and their distinct Capitol hair - glittery, flamboyant, and quite comical. They prattle about the Games as if it were a variety show and made commentaries about the Tribues like they were some sort of celebrities. Liquid anger courses through Seungcheol's veins. One of the highlights of the show was the commotion from the upper districts about the change in rules about volunteering and the program’s commentators talk about the “loss of opportunity for Careers”. Inwardly, Seungcheol scoffs: _oh there were opportunities lost, alright._

There was a close-up shot of Hyerim, the girl who tried to volunteer from 1, a crestfallen look upon her face when the policy was announced. After that, little Yuna's face pops up in the screen. 

"Ah, the youngest so far!" one of the show hosts say, as if it was of any comfort.  Yuna squirms in her seat as she watches Jisoo call her name. There was an apologetic smile - wistful, even - on his face, something neither of the Tribues noticed earlier.

Then Seungcheol watches himself on screen when his name was called. 

When the camera pans, he sees that Jooheon made a quick dash towards him - he didn’t even remember that happening - and try to grab his shoulder. They didn’t even make contact as Seungcheol was hurriedly whisked to the stage. He watches himself on screen, the Seungcheol from a few hours ago, and thinks about how differently this day could have gone.

The program they quickly moves on to show the other Tributes. The upper Districts that followed offered formidable opponents but the fanfare quickly dies as they move on to the lower sectors. The audiences seem more pent-up, like a quiet sea hiding a monster under its waves. Forlorn faces decorate the screen now and the silence was eerie. While the upper Districts cheered upon the calling of the Tributes, the lower sectors merely look at their children with stiff gazes and clenched fists. 

Seungcheol feels another wave of heartbreak wash over him when a twelve-year-old boy from 9 hesitantly walks to the stage. 

_ Young _ , he thinks,  _ too young.  _ Unlike in District 1 when Yuna was called, no one cheers for the boy. Hollow faces stare back at the kid - some were of pity while some were that of relief from escaping the Games. The boy cries.

Then, District 12. They watch a lanky boy make his way to the stage. Clad in threadbare clothing, he looked like a dandelion caught in the wrong side of the wind. He was tall, pale like moonlight, and his thick, curly hair obscures his eyes. He nervously fiddles with the hem of his shirt, adjusts his glasses, and nods to the silent crowd. Quiet and nervous as he was, there was still a certain ferocity in the way he held himself. Jaw set in a strong clench, he looks like he wanted to fight for his right to survive. A breeze blows over District 12 and it tousles the boy's hair. Under his bangs are dark eyes glowering at the camera, challenging Panem, _warning the Capitol_.

Soon, the screen fades to black and the hosts are back, throwing their own opinions about the Tributes, likening them to heroes. Praises of the Tributes’ bravery and leave their mouths and Seungcheol’s stomach churns in distate -  _ as if _ , he thinks,  _ as if he’d willingly partake in the Games _ . 

Before the program finally close they ceremoniously squeal: “May the odds be ever in your favor!”.  Seungcheol tries not to roll his eyes when Jisoo mouths the phrase to himself.

At the third hour, Jisoo excuses himself to take a phone call. It takes a while before he re-emerges but when he does, he was beaming. “I’ve solved our problem!”

“Our wrinkle, you mean.” Seungcheol smiles at his own sarcasm. He meant it as a joke but Jisoo actually seemed pleased that Seungcheo used it, his eyes twinkling with delight.

“Yes, yes! That.” Jisoo dispenses himself a cup of coffee and reclaims his seat in front of Seungcheol. “I still couldn’t persuade any of the previous Victors from 1. But the Capitol has assigned us a Choreographer. That’s better than having no one, right?”

Seungcheol tried to agree without hesitation but he has heard of Choreographers and the stone cold, brutal reputation that they have. Appointed by Gamemakers from the Capitol, Choreographers specialize in making the Games more  _ interesting _ . Like creating a dance, Choreographers teach Tributes unique ways to fight and kill and the more brutal or creative the method, the  _ better _ . 

The worst one he’s seen was a woman with sharpened canines tear her opponent’s throats with her bare teeth.

The Academy invited a Choreographer once during a special lecture and it was the first and only Choreographer Seungcheol ever saw. She boasted about the spoils of her job and goes on to tell them that the Capitol viewers even  _ request _ particular events from her Tributes, like: _ “Make sure 2 kills a Tribute with an arrow to the eye!” _

Seungcheol learned that the request itself costs money and when the Tribute actually delivers, the pay doubles up. The Tribute also gains more sponsors with the show of their skills. To be fair, it was a win-win situation on both ends.

Seungcheol remembers his blood boiling at her speech. He remembers the blinding anger and almost shaking with disgust.

But now he swallows the lump forming in his throat and pushed those thoughts aside. He thinks of how him and Yuna will need all the help they could get once they’re inside the Arena. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I suppose you’re right.”

Jisoo flashed him a grin and they settled again in silence.

⁕

Jisoo wakes him from sleep when they were nearing the Capitol. With trained hands, he smoothens the wrinkles from Seungcheol’s coat jacket, fixes his hair, and adds a swipe of gloss on his lips. “There will be cameras everywhere,” he warns, “for now, we just smile.”

Jisoo, to his credit, shoots an empathetic smile at Seungcheol’s disdain. “Or not. You don't have to, honestly. It’s no big deal. There will be a lot of people, too. They will be screaming at you but you don’t have to interact or answer their questions. It’s actually better if you don’t.”

Seungcheol nods. There was an unspoken apology in the way he spoke, his voice and gaze softening as words left his mouth. And while Seungcheol was still annoyed with the other’s statement from earlier, he’ll take what he can get. At least Jisoo looked regretful.

The train halts smoothly and they step out as soon as they’re able. True to Jisoo’s words, the station was packed with the eyes of an eager crowd of Capitol men and woman of all ages. Adorned in ridiculously colored dresses and equally eccentric hair colors, it almost seemed like a parade or a circus. 

Someone screams Seungcheol’s name in a ridiculous pitch - something like _Seungcheol, I love you! - _ and multiple camera flashes to direction. White light blinds him momentarily and he sees stars scratching the back of his lids. But instead of smiling he schools his face, did his best to look as unbothered as possible. 

Jisoo manages to steer him and Yuna away from the restless crowd towards a car. The drive to the Tribute Quarters was quiet but Jisoo managed to supply some semblance of conversation by introducing the area as they pass by. He points to monuments, to restaurants, and other buildings Jisoo deemed worthy enough but neither Seungcheol nor Yuna were listening, too busy wrapping their heads around that there were  _ actually _ here in the center of Panem - the ruling city, its heart, its  _ dictator _ . Streets were littered with equally odd fashion and despite the heat, almost everyone was caked with thick make-up. Compared to what he's seeing, Jisoo's combination of pink hair and velvet lipstick was nothing.

When they finally arrived, Seungcheol was _floored_. He’s seen tall buildings, been surrounded by it his whole life in District 1, but the Tribute Quarters was a grandeur on its own. It towered over the Capitol and its black facade gave it an intimidating aura. The glass windows also held a tinted shade and Jisoo informs him that while they can see everything from the inside, no one can see anything from the outside looking in. 

Connected to the Tribute Quarters was the Facility, a center where they will be training for the coming week before they’re sent to the Arena. It was just as tall as the Quarters and for a moment Seungcheol thinks of the millions of money Capitol spent on the Games that could have been allocated for the poorer districts like 12. _What a shame!_ he thinks, but he just bites his lip and keeps silent - he was in the Capitol now, there was no use screaming about his contempt when he’s alone and surrounded by loyalists.

Seungcheol gapes even more when they arrive at their designated loft. It was, for a lack of better words, beautiful. It was a high-ceiling unit with the beautifully decorated bedrooms above and a spacious living area below. Expensive paintings hang on the walls and the circulating air inside even smelled expensive. Like lilacs. Or maybe roses. Some sort of extravagant blooms, he presumes. 

The staircase was made of lacquer wood and glass and there was a long dining table by the ceiling-high windows that overlooked the Capitol. 

Food was already waiting for them at the long table. It was a feast temptingly laid out just for them. Hot steam and delectable scent flirts with Seungcheol’s nose and his mouth waters with want. He wonders, though, if this was the Capitol’s version of reaping food or just a common luxury given their unbelievable lifestyle. It was more likely the latter, he supposes.

He was about to pop a strawberry in his mouth when they hear a bedroom door open from upstairs and an excited voice that calls out: “Shua hyung, is that you?”

Enthusiastic footsteps make their way down and a boy emerges from the staircase. He was wearing a white shirt and blue slacks and he goes flying straight into Jisoo’s open arms. They embrace tightly, the way friends would when they see each other after being separated for so long.

Seungcheol drops the strawberry back on the plate, losing his appetite as quick as it came. Capitol’s show of humanity somehow surprises Seungheol. 

“Thanks for coming at such a short notice,” Jisoo says and the man practically screams his his reply: “Anything for you, hyung!”

They share small talk, mometarily stuck in their bubble of friendship between each other. Jisoo coos and pinches at the cheeks of the boy - man, Seungcheol supposes, he doesn't look _that_ much younger than him - and he soaks up the intimacy. He laughs loudly at whatever Jisoo said and the feeling of discomfort within Seungcheol increases tenfold. He _doesn't_ like this - doesn't like the amicable atmosphere they've made for themselves. 

Capitol people are snobs!

And monsters!

Blood thirsty, cruel beings!  Not some boys who treat each other as friends! They're not allowed to be this... this... _normal_. Seungcheol wants to _scream_.

Finally breaking the trance, Jisoo directs his friend towards Seungcheol and Yuna. “This is Kwon Soonyoung,” he lightly pushes the man to allow them to meet, “and Soonyoung, meet our Tributes - your Seungcheol  _ hyung _ and Yuna.”

Soonyoung extends his hands to Yuna and then to Seungcheol and says, “Hello, it’s an honor to meet the both of you. I will be your Choreographer for your Games this year.”

Finally taking a good look at the male in front of him, recognition clicks in Seungcheol's brain. Without any warning, he blurts out: “You’re Hoshi.”

He’s seen this face before, he finally realizes belatedly, and there was no mistaking that this boy with piercing eyes was the 20 year-old Kwon Soonyoung who won the 71st Hunger Games. 

He was from District 7, a celebrated Victor who finished Tributes with metal claws that protruded from brass knuckles. People from the Capitol adored him with so much passion. Early in the Games, he’d been so charismatic, endlessly flirting with the audience with his smiles and charming humor. Without much rivalry against the other Tributes, he became crowd favorite and he gained multiple sponsors that gifted him the vicious weapon. 

He was lucky. The Capitol loved him so much that after his victory they enlisted him as a Choreographer, the youngest so far. 

Seungcheol remembers seeing a bloody Soonyoung - or Hoshi, the screen name he adopted - snarling at the remaining Tribute that would determine his survival. He looked desperate and hungry, like a tiger ready to devour its prey. He had a strong look to his face accentuated by his high cheekbones and there was so much blood smeared across his face and hands. He held a gaze no one could forget. 

But here in the present, basked in the luminosity of their quarters with no brass knuckles in sight, he merely looked like a kitten who wanted to play with cotton strings. With his fluffy hair, plump cheeks, and eyes disappearing from how much he's smiling, he doesn't even resemble a predator. Not even close to looking like a cub. 

“Oh hyung,” Soonyoung says in a tiny voice, “please just call me Soonyoung.”

Seungcheol allows the tendril of hope that his father planted bloom further. Soonyoung was talented, smart, and calculated. Most importantly, he  _ knew _ people who can help them once inside the Arena.  _ Maybe _ he had the chance to go home - and if not him then maybe Yuna. 

Gripping Soonyoung's hand tighter, he says: "We'll be in your care, then."

When the pleasantries have been appropriately exchanged, the four of them settle themselves in the living room sprawled among the leather couches. An entertainment show on the television plays in the background, filling the loft with a false sense of feeling that they're a family merely hanging out to spend some time togehter.

Jisoo then reminds them of their schedule for the week: a social dinner tonight with the other Tributes, the Tribute Parade, training sessions with Soonyoung, afternoon sessions at the Facility, Assessment Day, their official interview with the Capitol’s news channel, and then the Games.

Under his breath, Seungcheol whispers: “May the odds be ever in our favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small "filler" chapter of some sorts~ I wonder who the boy from 12 is~ And finally, we have Soonyoung joining the team!! I really had fun playing with the idea of his persona for the Games. Hoshi tiger Tribute with his metal claws? Love that for him.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments ☟


	5. assembly

Seungcheol belatedly realizes that Soonyoung was younger than him. Well, the information is tucked secure in his brain seeing as he was watching the broadcast when Soonyoung was declared winner of the 71st Games and when he was named the youngest Choreographer, but the realization hits him with a startling blow.

Soonyoung must be Jihoon’s age, he ascertains. Then he wonders how different their lives are but before his thoughts could steer into a darker path, like that of a man who's being led to a thorny path slicked with jealousy, he speaks: “So, you’re supposed to help us.”

“Yeah but I guess I should tell you the catch, huh? I choreograph, which means I’m only meant to plan and control the skills you two have. Bring them to light, something like that. Supposedly. So tell me, what can you two do?” Soonyoung replies with quick excitement. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips like he was taunting.

Yuna quips. “I can fight physically. I punch strong. I think.”

Soonyoung nods at this. He turns to Seungcheol, “And hyung?”

Children from District 1 are mandated to enroll at the Academy when they turn 11 so Yuna has only been there for a year. Seungcheol, on the other hand, has been studying and training for 12 so he has basically covered all forms of combat and strategic classes. He would have graduated in two years time had he not been selected for the Games.

He says this so Soonyoung, though he looked quite troubled for not getting a direct answer. “Well, I guess we’ll see for ourselves tomorrow. But I wouldn’t worry too much. Your body will know what to do when you get to the Arena. Some muscle memory in the works, I think. And Tributes from all over Panem cower at the strength of District 1. I don’t think they’d be stupid enough to try and kill you at the first hour.”

“Or they could form an alliance to try and take us out first.” Seungcheol carefully remarks.

Soonyoung acknowledges the apprehension with a nod.

“True. Especially that Yuna is quite young. Not many people are threatened by a twelve-year-old. No offense,” Jisoo speaks and shoots an apologetic look to the female, “but I guess we just have to do a great job at intimidating them tonight and the rest of the week, huh? Play our cards right.”

The betting analogy does not go by Seungcheol unnoticed.

“So, what do we do?” Yuna’s eyes burns against Soonyoung’s. With eagerness, she begins her stream of questions. “I mean they told us that we should always make sure to get our weapons first, and oh should we initiate the alliance, or maybe - “

“One question at a time, little one.” Jisoo pats her head with a look akin to pity, “Tonight we focus on the Tribute dinner. You can think of forming alliances tomorrow after you’ve met them. Tonight is about making first impressions. It’s a social dinner but everyone will be keeping tabs on everyone.”

“It’s anything but social,” Soonyoung snorts into his drink, “it’s basically checking out who’s easy to target, who’s not, who you can trust, who you don’t want to.” A grimace touches Soonyoung’s face and it doesn’t take too long for everyone else to realize that he was reliving some sort of memory from his own Tribute dinner. It must have been horrible, if the brooding was anything to go by.

Jisoo holds Seungcheol’s gaze at that statement. He speaks again: “I’m not saying this will happen but you, especially you, should be wary of the other Tributes. Every year someone tries to provoke Tributes from 1. It’ll be best not to let whatever they say get to your skin, yeah?”

There was a flicker of softness in Jisoo’s gaze. Something akin to concern - maybe pity, or perhaps a mix of both. This time Seungcheol could no longer pretend it wasn’t there. He acted so differently from the Jisoo that stood on the stage of the reaping, like it was a mere facade or a mask he’s required to wear to perform his duties. Here, away from the cameras, he seemed so much more thoughtful and - daresay - caring than Representative Hong. While he tends to say a lot of inappropriate things, Seungcheol could at least see that he’s trying his best to help them.

Jisoo then claps his hands together to dispel the heaviness that loomed over the room. “Your stylists will be here in a few minutes. They’ll be the ones who will handle you for the rest of the week, bring out your beauty and all that.”

Seungcheol and Yuna do not protest at that statement. While the Games weren’t a pageant, it always goes without saying that the more good looking ones get the most sponsors.

Right on cue, three knocks announce the arrival of their stylists. They enter and the room seems to glow with energy, like they have brought at least some form of innocent fun in the loft.

One of them was a male who sported a glittering turtle neck shirt underneath a leather coat that matched his pants that were long enough to sweep the floor. He introduces himself as Wen Junhui and a tiny fang appears when he smiled. Seungcheol almost swoons at his flirtatious charms but he looks away before he could be caught turning cherry red.

He was beautiful and even Seungcheol was not immune to the physical allure of Capitol boys.

The other male was Xu Minghao. He was tall and thin but he carried an unmistakable elegance with every word and action that he does. He wore a flower patterned kimono atop a black ensemble and he had multiple silver accessories decorating his slender fingers.

“His ears are pointy,” Yuna whispers comically. Seungcheol smiles and playfully shushes her.

Jun also introduces Sook-ja, a female stylist in training who came to tag along. The three of them exchange warm hugs with Soonyoung and Jisoo - it was hard to not miss that they have already been long time friends, Soonyoung, Jun, and Minghao most especially.

“Hello,” Jun bows in greeting, “we know it’s a bit early but Hao and I thought it would be best to drop by as soon as we could.”

Soonyoung happily latches on Jun. “Aren’t you the one who’s a big fan of being fashionably late, as you call it?”

A hearty laugh leaves Jun’s lips. It sounded sugary sweet, like a gift wrapped in colorful cellophane. “Not when I know my favorite people will be waiting for me!”

Minghao tuts and pokes Jun’s cheek with false exasperation but the fondness was evident in his eyes. “Run along now, love.” he says. With an encouraging push, he leads Jun to the staircase. Jun extended his hand to Yuna and they ascend to her room with Jisoo and Sook-ja in tow.

This leaves Seungcheol with Minghao. He smiles kindly and the light reflects from his crinkled eyes - the sort that gives the impression that the light comes from within instead.

“Shall we?" He says kindly and Seungcheol leads him to his room. When he arrived earlier he was perplexed as to why he would need a large table in the middle of a walk-in closet - excessive, if he asked anyone - but when Minghao maneuvers him to be seated atop, he realized it was for an examination procedure.

Minghao works silently. He takes Seungcheol’s hands in his and diligently inspects his fingers. Hard calluses brush against Minghao’s velvet skin like sandpaper scratching against glass. If it weren’t the circumstances, Seungcheol would have been embarrassed.

Minghao politely asks Seungcheol to remove his pants and socks. “May I?” he says, pertaining to his feet. Seungcheoul could only nod.

He then takes out nail clippers, trims his fingernails and toenails, and asks him to soak his hand in feet in warm water he’s mixed with scented oils.

They’d have to wait for fifteen minutes before he could take them out. “There really isn’t much to do when we’re handling Tributes from the upper districts,” Minghao says nonchalantly while he brushes and plucks stray hair from Seungcheol’s eyebrows. “You’re already shaved and waxed, coming here hairless and pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever waxed anyone from 1.”

“It helps with the swimming,” Seungcheol replies. He winces when Minghao accidentally pinches his skin. “Less hair, less drag. All that.”

Minghao hums and drapes a towel over Seungcheol’s exposed legs. Seungcheol stared at his reflection in the mirror. He watches Minghao focus on him. Then he says: “I know you, actually. I knew I wanted to become a stylist when I met your father.”

This took Seungcheol by surprise.

Minghao giggles softly. “Sorry, that was an exaggeration. I really didn’t meet him. I meant, when I met his work. He wove stories in the clothes he made, didn’t he? He told stories about the people who wore his clothes. Where they came from, who they are. I never imagined that on my first year as an official stylist for the games that I’d face his own son.”

Seungcheol beams with pride. “Yes, he really put a lot of thought into the clothes he makes. He’s very talented. I’m glad that he was able to inspire someone with his works.”

“It’s hard not to,” Minghao replies, “at first glance, the clothes are already beautiful but when you get to know his pieces better, it becomes art. It’s a shame he stopped working for the Capitol.”

Seungheol’s throat closes at MInghao’s last sentence. Surely, the younger male didn’t know the implications of what he just said but it still makes Seungcheol’s skin crawl with aggravation.

Or perhaps Minghao knew?

And he was trying to get a rise from Seungcheol?

Was this how everyone in the Capitol operated? Though blatant provokation?

Seungcheol inhales a deep breath, unsure as to what was more irksome: Minghao being genuinely oblivious to the kidnappings under the Capitol's regime or his attempt at goading. He keeps quiet now and merely taps his fingers inside the bowl. The water sloshes with every agitated tap.

“Anyway,” Minghao uncrosses his hands across his chest, “I hope I’ll get to know you well enough to dress you appropriately for tomorrow’s parade.”

Tonight though, Minghao simply clothes him in a loose white button up and black pants. He delicately applies shiny pink gloss over his lips and applies silver eyeshadow over his lids. Minghao tilts the adjustable lamp and Seungcheol’s face glistens. To complete the look, Mighao fastens a black choker around his neck and sprays soft perfume behind his ears.

When they return to the common area, Jun was already finished. He fashioned Yuna in a white dress with a black ribbon around her waist, a clone of what Seungcheol was wearing. She twirls, takes Seungcheol’s hands, and says: “Jun oppa made me look so pretty!”

The stylist laughs, a sound that could match that of a chime bells dancing with the wind. He shrugs, “I just made sure to bring out your charms. You're already beautiful, Yuna.”

Jisoo takes a good look at Seungcheol and then nods in approval. "Seungcheol looks really good, too. Thank you, Minghao."

"Mm. Let me echo what Jun said."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. "Flattery won't get anyone anywhere."

Hoshi tuts. "Ah, but it's still worth showing some kindness, won't you agree, Shua-hyung?"

_Kindness. . ._

_Kindness?_

The word echoes back in forth in Seungcheol's brain, the feeling of... what was it? Disgust? _Anger?_

Because really: how dare they talk about kindness when they're literally hosting a dinner for participants for the Games? They're treating them like cattle being fattened up for butchering! The whole set-up for tonight was part of the grand scheme of the murder of twenty-three children; dressing them up in fancy clothes does not change anything.

But then he sees Jun softly cradle Minghao's face, swiping away a stain of blotched make-up from his cheek. Soft kindness in his eyes.

Hoshi attemps to straighten his coat with unsteady hands, and when he was just about to give up, Jisoo comes in and steadies his fingers and helps him button up his suit. Warm, kind eyes were trained on the Victor.

Then, Yuna shyly offers a smile to him when she catches Seungcheol's eyes. A homey upturn of lips filled with childlike innocence and kindness.

A multitude of emotions swirl inside Seungcheol's chest but one emerges the most prominent: it was_ confusion_. He grew up in this world thinking, knowing, and breathing in the information that there was nothing good that could come out from the Capitol. They're all but vile murderers and plunderers, who think of nothing but themselves. They don't have friends, they don't have lovers - they're mere robots who operate on their greed and blind adoration to power.

To be surrounded with these people... it made him. . .

Nauseous?

_Afraid?_

Was this merely an act? Are they just trying to pretend to be amicable for the sake of... for the sake of _what_? What _do_ they gain from pretending to be amicable people?

Should he be at awe at their ability to put on a show even when they're away from cameras?

Or was this _real? _Are these people really capable of feeling anything beyond their thirst for power and control?

"Seungcheol?" Jisoo's worried-stricken voice takes him out of his reverie. He must have spaced out, Seungcheol thinks, because now the rest of the crowd was looking at him.

He looks into Jisoo's eyes, tries to search for any hint of ingenuity - because really, Seungcheol would rather face a treacherous, murder-driven Capitol citizen rather than a empathetic one.

But he sees nothing but honey brown eyes; warm, curious, and imploring. He sees Representative Hong bathed in warm orange light looking like a friend, lips parted with words of concern hanging heavily on his tongue, arms halfway into reaching out to Seungcheol, like he wants to ground him back to reality and say _"It's okay, you're here. I'm here. We're here. You're okay."_

He sees no hint of malice, no bloodthirst, no desire. There was nothing that would hint of him being someone who works for the Games and really, the only thing that is a reminder of his Capitol citizenship is his pink hair - and that didn't even matter as much anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I saw Seventeen for their Ode To You tour in the PH, and I didn't know it was possible but my love for them grew a thousand more.
> 
> enter: Xu Minghao and Wen Junhui! Have some JunHao~ I really like playing with the idea that Minghao is sort of like Cinna, the way they're both inclined to fashion.
> 
> As for Seungcheol's musings: I think if I were in Cheol's position, I too would be really confused. He grew up hay-wired to think that the Capitol is their enemy. No one could deny him that anger because he witness his mother's taking when he was a child, and he had to bear Jihoon's trauma from that incident, too. Now, he's even more angry at the Capitol because of his personal circumstances of getting picked as the Tribute for 1. He probably expected to be treated like shit by the people at the Capitol, but here comes Representative Hong starting to shed his facade and showing his true colors, and couple-y JunHao who are obviously enamoured with one another. It would really throw off anyone, right? Now for this chapter I wanted Seungcheol to second-guess what he knows about the people from the Capitol. And maybe that will change how the story goes and how he will deal with the Games~
> 
> let me know what you think!


	6. the dinner

The dinner was held in a large ballroom within the Tribute Quarters. Jun insisted that they arrive later than usual to give some sort of “grand entrance” and so when the large doors opened and they filed inside, Seungcheol could see that Tributes from the rest of the Districts were already there. Trained eyes followed the sound of the heavy door and predatory eyes were suddenly upon them.

Unperturbed, Jisoo ushers the group with a confident smile. “Chins up, smiles on,” he chirps but then whispers cooly, “but _ guards up.” _Jun laughs a tiny breath and then says with a teasing lilt: “Hyung is the scariest one in this room, isn't he?”

Trying not to pay _ much _ attention to what the stylist said, Seungcheol proceeds forward. He was glad for the minimalist clothes Minghao had chosen for him. He wonders if he could even breathe with heavily decorated clothes under the scrutiny of the Tributes and their ensemble. 

Caterers from different backrooms then emerge carrying plates filled with an assortment of food and drinks. Jisoo takes Yuna’s hand and waltzes away from him and then Minghao and Jun spots another group of stylists and saunters away too. Soonyoung, on the other hand, did not bother to attend the event at all.

This leaves Seungcheol to brood in a corner, watching the evening unfold.

He sees the pair from District 4 make their way to 3, who was already chatting with 2. Frankly, he doesn’t feel surprised. The upper districts - including 1 - usually formed an alliance early on in the game and then the logistics of killing amongst themselves were always the highlight of the Games. 

Like some exclusive hunting club, they bonded. But Seungcheol could not be bothered to associate himself with that type of crowd - while they’re not at fault for wanting to survive themselves, the fact that most of the tributes from the upper districts take _ pleasure _ in killing is enough reason for him to steer away from them.

“If you didn’t come inside with Representative Hong, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the Tribute from 1.” Someone from behind taps his shoulders and grabs his attention, shoving a champagne glass as soon as he turns. He raises his eyebrow in question but accepts the drink nonetheless. He’d rather have his hands occupied rather than fiddling - a nervous tick, Jihoon had pointed out before.

“Well,” the man in front of him says again without a prompt. “District 1 usually demands to be the center of attention. Surrounded by fanfare and all that. Very loud. Annoying, even.”

“Perhaps I’m different.” Seungcheol finally speaks.

“Perhaps so.” The man offers his hand and his name - Ja-Kyung - and then informs Seungcheol that he was from District 7. He takes Seungcheol to his table where his female counterpart awaits. He learns that her name is Ayeong.

She smiles at him. An attempt at friendly but a shadow of wariness lurks around the upturn of her lips. “How do you find the party so far?”

_ Stiff _, he wanted to say. He could tell that the other Tributes were sizing him up whenever he passes, their gazes stick to him like glue. It was heavy and uncomfortable. But of course Seungcheol says neither of these things and replies, “It’s fine.” Ayeong hums knowlingly as if she could see the lie through him.

“He doesn’t seem like your typical 1, doesn’t he?” Ja-Kyung grins at her. She laughs, throwing her head back, and then hits her partner whilst telling him to shut up. Seungcheol thinks she might be wine-drunk already. If there was anything he could make from the whole scene, he could at least say the pair looked like friends. It might be a fake pretense but at least the attempt was there.

A waiter serves them food and drinks and they converse. They may be enemies in the field but Seungcheol is appreciative of their effort to bring some form of normalcy to tonight’s dinner. They ask about his age, if he had any siblings, what he thought of the Capitol. He politely returns the questions when he finishes answering. “Well, the tall buildings here cast different shadows compared to the trees at home,” Ayeong says. Then Seungcheol remembers: _ right _, 7 - lumber. He smiles genuinely when he identifies the tone of longing in her voice: “The air must be cleaner there too, I’m sure.”

The pair laughs at his comment. From across the room he could see Jisoo proudly smiling at him. He raises his glass and Seungcheol nods in acknowledgement. Then after a few beats, their District representative appears and then whisks both Ayeong and Ja-Kyung away towards the Tributes from District 10. Left alone, Seungcheol returns to watching the dinner in silence.

His eyes landed on the table where the boy from 12 was seated. The scene took him by surprise. Across him, the tribute had a mountainous _ stack _ of plates on his side while he devoured his food with his bare hands. He barely chewed his food, scarfing down and swallowing with such intensity that Seungcheol worried he might choke and die even before the games begin. His glasses were also barely staying on his face as he leaned down to devour his food. 

Behind the boy, Seungcheol could see Districts 2 and 4 laughing and making a complete spectacle of the boy. _ Typical _. They even grabbed the female from 3, pointed at the sight, and then laughed again. With their distance - or the lack thereof - the boy from 12 could surely hear their laughter. Yet he paid no mind, pouring all his attention to the food. 

The sight hurt Seungcheol. It was a sort of pain that lodged deep in his chest and spread throughout his system, threatening to choke him with such intensity that his brain almost shuts down. He learned about the horrors of poverty in 12, their lessons from the Academy had taught them as much. He has also read about it in his mother’s travel journal that he accidentally stumbled upon at home; a detailed and personal account of starving children and adults. He never thought he’d get to see it himself.

His mother wrote about the children from 12 who woke up not knowing when they last ate and when they will have their next meal. Children who would willingly bet their lives, adding more of their names to the reaping ball just so they would receive rations from the Capitol and just have something to eat. _ “It is sad,” _ his mother wrote, _ “that they condemn themselves to greater odds of dying in the Games just so they wouldn’t die from hunger.” _

Seungcheol could hardly blame the boy. He probably never had enough food to eat so table manners were surely the last thing on his mind. 

He then starts gagging and gasping for air; before he could think about what he was doing, Seungcheol was already by the boy’s side and patting his back with emergency. “Easy there,” he says when the boy finishes his horrendous coughing fit, “here, drink water first.”

The boy does as he’s told; quickly, he wipes his hands on the table runner and gulps his drink with fervor. His eyes dart to and fro from the room and then back to his plate, his gaze not once meeting Seungcheol’s eyes. He shrinks in his seat.

“Better?” Seungcheol tries. District 12 nods and mumbled his thanks, his eyes a burning shade of crimson.

He extends his hands and then introduces himself. Seungcheol waits. Then the boy wipes the grime from his hands again, shakes Seungcheol’s hands, and finally breathes his name: “My name is Jeon Wonwoo.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Seungcheol says and allows himself to claim the seat in front of the boy without waiting for an invitation.

Wonwoo continues to eat more slowly this time and Seungcheol smiles. 

After a beat, he speaks again. “Would you like some?” he offers a peach to Seungcheol, who takes the fruit and savors the flavor in his mouth. 

For a moment, he’s reminded of Jihoon and his love for this certain peach-flavored carbonated drink. His mind momentarily wanders and he thinks what Jihoon must be doing right now. _ Has he eaten his dinner? Did he watch the replay of the reaping? _

A strong grip on his shoulder brings him back to the dinner party. It was the boy from 2. “What is this?” he says and crinkles his eyes, “1 showing some charity to the lesser district?”

Wonwoo visibly shrinks and stops eating, abandoning the fruit. It topples to the ground with a a pathetic squelch.

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulder but the boy seems to even tighten his grip. “First 7 and now 12. I’m starting to think this year’s Tribute from District 1 doesn’t quite know what he’s doing.”

Seungcheol exhales. 

Jihoon once told him that he was too forgiving; that he had too much room for love and too little for hate. It was the time when Jihoon accidentally spilled cola on one of Seungcheol’s books and the younger expected Seungcheol to be mad but Seungcheol merely pouted and asked Jihoon to come with him to the bookstore to buy a new one. 

Cue the scolding. _ “You should be angry at me!” _ Jihoon yelled in frustration. But Seungcheol, despite the hurt over the loss of his novel, couldn’t find it in himself to get mad at Jihoon. _ “You didn’t mean to do it, Hoonie _ ,” he said it again, _ “I’d only get angry if you really meant to hurt me.” _

Because that’s what Seungcheol despised the most: people who go out of their way to mistreat others around them; arrogant people who think they can do _ anything _ they want because they hold power over others.

So he looks at the boy from 2 straight in the eyes and snarls: “Leave us alone.”

The boy’s eyes snap back to Wonwoo. He smirks. “Not until your friend here learns how to use a spoon and fork.” He throws a pair of utensils at Wonwoo and grins. 

Wonwoo glares and his knuckles whiten from his strong grip on the table runner. He echoes Seungcheol’s statement with wild ferocity: “Please leave us alone.”

“The animal talks!” the other boy whistles, faking interest. “And I thought people from 12 were savages.”

Wonwoo’s eyes harden to a glare when he pushes himself up. His chair drops with a loud crash and he strides towards the boy. He was quick but Seungcheol was quicker-- he grabs the boy’s hand on his shoulder as he jolts to his feet. He twists the boy’s arm behind him and grips him hard. The table rattles at the sudden movement, the stack of plates wobbling and threatening to nose dive to the floor. 

Seungcheol could suddenly feel everyone’s gaze on them.

Just as he was about to release the boy, he was yanked back by who he assumed as District 2’s representative. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

Surprisingly, it was the boy from 2 who spoke: “It’s nothing.” His representative looks just about ready to combust but he says again: “We were just getting to know each other.” 

Seungcheol doesn’t take his eyes off the boy and as level-headed as he could, he says: “It was an absolute delight to befriend you.”

The boy _ smirks _ and yanks himself away from Seungcheol’s grip. “Likewise, Choi Seungcheol.” They walk away after that.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Wonwoo’s voice pulled him back. His voice still sounded grounded. Pained, even.

Seungcheol grimaces. “He deserved it th--”

“You didn’t have to protect me,” Wowoo corrects with a sharp inhale. “I can do that myself.” 

_ I don’t need your help _, he means to say and Seungcheol could hear it perfectly. He nods, swallows once, and shrugs. “I never. I don’t doubt you.”

They stare at each other after than. Then, Wonwoo sits back then exhales. “Good.” Unsure of what to do next, Seungcheol decides to walk back to where he last saw Jisoo. But Wonwoo signals him to take his seat, an easy smile replacing his treacherous features as if he weren’t furious moments ago. “I actually know how to use a spoon and fork. I thought I ought to let you know.”

Seungcheol stares and then he bursts out in laughter. Clutching his sides, he stutters: “That’s - okay - I don’t doubt that either.”

Wonwoo’s nose scrunches when he smiles and he visibly relaxes at Seungcheol’s presence. “More peach?” 

⁕

Dinner was soon dismissed and Seungcheol finds himself back in their room’s common area. He looks up to a less-than-pleased Jisoo who stood in front of him, arms crossed and a pointed look on his face. “I warned you,” he pinches his nose in annoyance, “I told you not to do anything. I said that, didn’t I?”

It was rhetoric question but Jun still _feels_ the need to say something and quips: “Yes, hyung. You did say that.”

Soonyoung fights back a laugh but ultimately fails. “Well, it was one way to tell them not to mess with you.” 

Jisoo glares at the Choreographer and turns to face Seungcheol again. “Are you actually _ pouting? _ What the fu _ \- _” He huffs and then smacks a throw pillow against Seungcheol’s arms. 

“I said I was sorry,” Seungcheol attempts one last time. Much like a child he even adds: “He started it you know. It wasn’t me.”

“Still - “

Minghao speaks finally. “Let it go, Shua. No one reported it so it’ll be fine. Besides, the boy kind of deserved it.” He smiles at Seungcheol and makes way for the stairwell. 

“Jun and I will be heading to bed now. We will see you in the morning for the preparations for the Parade.” He then takes Jun’s hand, kisses it, and they ascend to their room. 

Jisoo sighs. “Just promise me you won’t try to get in any more trouble. Save the fighting for the Arena, okay?”

He and Soonyoung then bid goodnight and leaves Seungcheol alone with his thoughts. He knew Jisoo was right. There would be plenty of opportunity to fight in the Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Enter: Jeon Wonwoo! 
> 
> I have this headcannon that Seungcheol will always choose to stand up to bullies even if he doesn't know the person receiving the abuse. I hope you all enjoyed the scene where he stood up for Wonwoo because I really love WonCheol friendship. Those two gamer boys- ahh WonCheol besties and no one can convince me otherwise.
> 
> I also hope everyone liked the JiCheol flashback I inserted in there. I think I have to reiterate that this fic will focus heavily on friendships/inter-character relationships and is very plot-heavy.
> 
> Thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Let me know what you think. ♡  
PS. Fallin' Flower choreography video was really beautiful, wasn't it? Our boys did it again. And did you hear? They sold over 300k copies of their album already! I'm so proud of them!  
PPS. I hope everyone is coping well despite the COVID-19 outbreak.


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